


Balcony

by compos_dementis



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-03
Updated: 2010-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compos_dementis/pseuds/compos_dementis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Shakespeare makes this romance thing seem much easier than it actually is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Balcony

So maybe it had been a while since England had done anything considered “romantic” by society. Honestly, he didn’t think anything of it; at least not until his fey friends had him convinced that if he didn’t act on his lovers’ instinct, then Francis might get bored and leave him.

 

A ridiculous thought, but still. Better safe than sorry.

 

So that was why he was here, in the middle of the night, looking up to Francis’s window from the freshly-watered garden of Francis’s house, trying to make amends for their argument the day before. He didn’t even remember what the argument was about – no doubt another one of Francis’s attempts to get him land-locked, keep him from going out to sea again and “leaving him alone” – but he knew he had to apologize for whatever it was Francis thought he did wrong. Like he said, better safe than sorry.

 

“Francis!” he hissed up at the window. Useless. The thing was shut and the curtains drawn, and he probably thought he’d left for his ship already. Arthur sighed a bit in irritation and tried again. “Francis!”

 

Still nothing. Hmm. All right then.

 

He leant down and picked up a small stone, looked back up to the window, aimed just right, and threw it up. The little pebble bounced harmlessly from the glass. “Francis!”

 

Most would question at this point why Arthur didn’t just go to the front door – he had a key to the house, he could easily get inside and go wake the Frenchman with no trouble – and it is to this inquiry that Arthur would quote his lover in saying that people, men in particular, do crazy things when they are in love. And desperate times called for desperate measures, and if that meant standing out here throwing rocks up at the balcony window to get Francis to not leave him, so be it.

 

When the other still didn’t acknowledge he was there, he tried again, with a pebble a bit larger this time. Again, it bounced from the glass, and he waited as he saw the flicker of light inside. This time, Francis did emerge from his bedroom, looking sleepy and annoyed and… oh, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

 

“What do you want, Angleterre? I am trying to sleep!” Francis was dressed in his nightgown – really, such a woman, when it came down to it – and his hair was messy around his face, eyes half-lidded and tired. Arthur felt silly, being fully-dressed still (he’d gotten no sleep whatsoever that night, having worried about the fabric of their relationship coming apart – well, maybe he was a bit of a woman too).

 

“I came to see you.”

 

Francis blinked at him. “Monsieur Kirkland, it is two o’clock on this morning… why couldn’t you wait until tomorrow? And… I thought you would have left for your seas by now.”

 

Ah, so Arthur was right. Paranoia came in handy sometimes, didn’t it?

 

“Well…” Arthur searched for something to say. His fey had been the ones to tell him to come make it right, and a fat lot of good they had done him here, and he remembered Shakespeare making this seem more romantic than it probably was, Romeo standing down below his lady’s balcony, monologuing his love for Juliet, while Juliet stood there in her night-things and dreamt of his love in return.

 

Of course, the thought of Francis Bonnefoy as Juliet was not only amusingly fitting, but also a bit unnerving, because he was standing there now looking like he wasn’t dreaming of kissing Arthur so much as braining him for disrupting his sleep.

 

“Arthur,” Francis sighed, tugging his hair back from his eyes so he could see. “It is early. I don’t know what you think you are doing here, but all you are managing is to make me upset with you.”

 

Oh. Oh dear, well, that couldn’t be good.

 

“I…” Arthur’s voice lowered in embarrassment at what he was about to say. “Well, you know, I thought… I thought it would be romantic.”

 

He had a right to be embarrassed, because then Francis was blinking and looking confused before—ah, yes, so like his Trio, he was laughing at him, covering his mouth to keep from waking nonexistent neighbors.

 

“Rom… romantic, Angleterre?” Francis calmed down and just stood there smirking. “Arthur, je t’aime, but you are anything but Shakespeare.”

 

Francis wasn’t stupid. Arthur should’ve remembered this.

 

“Well…” He couldn’t think of what to say. “I just—“

 

“Arthur.” Francis cut him off, smiling more than smirking now, and shook his head. “You don’t have to be Monsieur Shakespeare to impress me, you know.” He laughed a bit. “I think you are romantic enough just the way you are.”

 

Arthur blinked up at him and that smile made his face heat up. He cleared his throat. “You… you do?”

 

“Oui.” Francis nodded and stifled a yawn. “Tomorrow… we will talk more about it, non? But tonight, I think it is best to get some sleep. Come inside instead of just standing there, you must be cold.”

 

A few minutes later, curling close to Francis in the warmth of Paris, Arthur realized that really, Shakespeare had known bollocks about romance.


End file.
